


Book Of Days

by queanofswords



Series: Noble Verse [4]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Pete's World
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 07:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queanofswords/pseuds/queanofswords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a human, days had a way of stacking on top of each other, patterns emerging with surprising speed and a disturbing amount of inevitability. Loathe as he was to admit it, the Doctor was slipping into routine. (A series of scenes, vignettes and drabbles. On-going and likely to be added to at random intervals.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 75 - Thursday

Tony Tyler loved bedtime stories. There were very few things that seemed make him happier, unless you counted brightly coloured paints or chocolate digestives. It was his all-encompassing enthusiasm that elevated it from chore to cherished. Plus, it was the only big sister activity that Rose did that the Doctor was allowed to get in on. Anyways, most of the other ones involved flying food or bouts of loud crying. 

The Doctor was starting to think that the young Tyler was some sort of mastermind. A few seconds of noise, and he was willing to do nearly _anything_ to make it stop. Sweets, putting on a film... He'd even let Tony play with his sonic screwdriver once. Rose had acted like he'd handed the child a loaded gun, which was unfair. He hadn't let the boy out of his sight for a single moment, and besides, it wasn't as if it didn't have a safety setting. All of which he'd tried to explain to her, but she wouldn't hear any of it. She'd even threatened to tell Jackie, so he knew she meant business. He'd had to solemnly swear that he'd never let Tony near the sonic screwdriver, or any other piece of advanced technology he happened to have on his person, again.

Then there was the time Tony had been playing with his windmill-shaped biscuits, making little 'pew pew bsssh!" noises whilst he made them fly around. They didn't look like Daleks, not really, but it had given the Doctor the absolute creeps. Rose had sworn up and down that she'd neither seen nor heard of any Daleks in this universe. Eventually, he was able to stop thinking about it all the time, but he was still having nightmares about the world cracking open and a million million Daleks pouring out from the Void. Not every night, but often enough. (REM sleep was rapidly topping his list of things he did _not_ like about being human.)

One night (the Doctor's 75th Day of Being Human), seven weeks after they had come to Bad Wolf Bay for the third time, Rose was unavailable for story time. Jackie had strong-armed her into going to a charity event. Pete was being dragged along, too, but mercifully, Jackie had not insisted that the Doctor go. Bless her.

Pete grumbled a little louder than necessary while Jackie fussed over his white tie and scarf. The three of them stood in the foyer, dressed to the nines. It was a little before six-thirty in the evening.

Sarah, Tony's babysitter (she preferred 'childminder', but Jackie never seemed to remember that) held the boy on her hip. "Say goodbye to Mummy and Daddy," she said in an unnecessarily saccharine tone.

Tony grunted and wiped his runny nose on her shoulder. "No!" Currently, this was his very favourite word.

"I send these people a six-figure cheque every year," Pete groused. "I don't see why I also have to go to this bloody dull dinner."

"It's a dinner _and_ gala," Jackie said. "And the tickets came _because_ you sent them a cheque. Besides, you need to show your face. Torchwood's under a lot of fire, what with the press and that _bridge_." She cast an eye over her shoulder, catching the Doctor and Rose in her displeasure.

"That wasn't our fault," Rose said. She was wearing a long gold gown with a rather daring neckline and a slit in the skirt that went almost all the way up to her hip. Some designer had begged her to wear it to the event tonight, and she'd said yes, after her mother had talked her ear off for a couple of hours. The Doctor couldn't decide if he loved it or hated it. She looked spectacular—he'd made sure to tell her so, just in case she hadn't noticed—but she was also going out, without him, and it wasn't something you could really run in. And the shoes looked dreadfully uncomfortable.

"It was a little bit your fault," Pete said. "But never mind." He adjusted his collar one last time and Jackie went to say goodnight to her son. 

"Why doesn't the Doctor have to come?" Rose asked again.

"Really," he said quickly, "it's all right. I don't mind."

Rose glared at him. "Why do _I_ have to go?"

"I don't want him within a hundred miles of this," Jackie said. "Next thing we know, the shrimp cocktails will come to life and try to strangle everybody."

"Harry Belafonte isn't on the guest list, is he?" Pete wondered, smirking.

"Oh, don't get bogies on Mummy's dress, love," Jackie sighed. Sarah hurriedly tried to help her clean off. "Oh, it's okay. No one'll notice it, long as I keep my wrap on."

"But why me?" Rose pressed.

"Because people have been asking about you. We've got appearances to keep up."

Inner-Donna's hackles went up. Should he be insulted? "I can do appearances," he said, not at all petulantly. Really.

"It's just a few hours on a Thursday night," Jackie said, ignoring him. "It's hardly gonna kill you. All right, then?" She eyed them all with satisfaction and smoothed the front of her blue organza bodice. "Everybody smart? Rose, is that eyeshadow really right for this?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Mr. Tyler, sir." Morris had come inside. "We had better get going, or we're going to be unfashionably late."

The Doctor gave Rose a kiss on the cheek, since Donna prompted him not to smear her lipstick, and waved them out the door. Soon, the car was driving off, and it was only him, Sarah and Tony left in an entire mansion full of nothing to do.

"All right, Tony," Sarah said. "Time for you to go to bed!"

"No! _Noooo_!" The toddler's protests followed them all the way upstairs.

The Doctor stood there alone for a few moments at a loss. It was rare that he was left alone these days. During the day, he was usually at Torchwood or doing Torchwood related stuff—which never got him out of the South of England, sadly—or he was with Rose. Wandering around London with Rose, eating with Rose, sleeping with Rose. Even watching telly with Rose, though to be honest that had only happened on one occasion. They were in the midst of that utterly brilliant phase where they couldn't get enough of each other. It was like in the old days, really. (Except with lots of shagging.) Sadly, all the adventures were Earth-bound and occupied one place in linear time.

He realised that this was the first time in nearly seven weeks that they'd been apart. Panic welled up inside him. He should go after them. He still had a tuxedo somewhere in Rose's— _their_ bedroom cupboard; he was reasonably sure that all the window glass had come out at the cleaners.

_Don't be clingy_ , Donna advised.

"Am not!" he cried, and then he was immediately grateful that he was alone in the foyer. He really needed to stop doing that. If Dr. Poole got wind of it, she'd have him in a straight jacket by morning. She was a small-minded and supercilious woman; he wouldn't have trusted her to know his shoe size. Martha had promised to find him someone else by the end of next week.

He took out his mobile phone, realising that he had another option. He called Donna.

After two rings, she picked up. "What's wrong?" she answered.

"Hallo, Donna! What? Oh. No. Nothing's wrong, I just—"

"Then why are you calling me? I thought you all had that orphans' charity tonight?"

"It wasn't orphans, it was something else…"

"What?"

"I don't know. I wasn't paying attention. Anyhow, I'm not going."

"Lucky you," Donna said wryly. "But why are you calling me?" There was a voice in the background.

He frowned. "… Is this a bad time?"

"Sorta, yeah." Was he imagining things, or did she seem a bit out of breath?

"Oh. Sorry. I'll let you—"

"Okay! See you tomorrow!" The call ended abruptly, leaving him staring at the mobile. So much for that.

_Hardly the first night you've ever been alone,_ inner-Donna said.

That was true, of course, but it felt different this time.

_Never liked being alone._

It was just the edge of a thought, almost as if she were trying to hide it from him. Which was unusual—most of the time, he had to work to keep her thoughts separate from his own. It never went the other way.

At this, she—the part of his mind that was her—shifted, almost shuddered inside him and he had to shake himself back into the exterior world. _That_ was different…

Instead of worrying about it—what _she_ wanted to do—he took the stairs back up to his old suite of rooms.

The young TARDIS sat in the middle of the living room, giving off a warm and pleasing glow of orange-gold light. She was still largely spherical, but she'd grown to about 1.63 metres across. He grinned as he brushed a delicate branch with a finger and felt her respond with eagerness. She was longing to go somewhere, anywhere. She wanted to float on eddies in the Vortex, drift on endlessly, ending anywhere, whenever, never.

"Me, too," he said softly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the vortex manipulator. He'd been trying to coax her to imitate other objects—mostly boxes, even a cardboard one. (Police box being the ultimate goal, of course.) So far, she didn't seem to comprehend what he wanted her to do, or she was just being stubborn. Anyways, the upshot of this difficulty was that he needed the manipulator to help direct her. At least, for now. Mostly, she wanted to communicate through telepathy, which suited him fine, but Rose didn't have much in the way of psychic abilities, so—

He turned around. Somebody had knocked on the door. Nobody ever knocked on this door. (Mostly because he was only ever in here to check on the TARDIS.) He opened the door a crack, and stuck his head through. "Rose?"

"No, sorry…" Sarah blinked up at him. "Sorry to disturb you, Doctor. I know you're busy, but…" Sarah Porter was in her late twenties, dark-haired, a bit on the heavy side, and shy. At least, she was shy of him, which he couldn't fathom. He'd always been nice to her. 

"Is everything all right? Is Tony okay?"

"Oh! No! He's fine! But he was asking for you. I told him you were busy, but he's fussing, so I thought if maybe you could just come and say goodnight…"

The Doctor relaxed his hold on the doorknob; his fingers throbbed as the blood returned to them. "Of course." He closed the door firmly behind him. He would have locked it, but Jackie had had a fit the last time he'd done that. (He'd promised not to lock any doors if she promised not to let any member of the household staff into his living room.)

Sarah led him back to Tony's bedroom. "Here he is, duck," she said sweetly.

Tony was sitting in the middle of the floor playing with a stuffed rabbit. The rabbit had over-sized ears and wore a red velvet waistcoat with a vastly oversized pocket watch sewn to one hand. When Tony saw the Doctor, he got to his feet and gambolled over to him. "Doctor!"

Grinning despite himself, the Doctor swooped down and scooped the boy up into his arms. Tony squealed with delight. " _Somebody's_ putting off their bedtime," he said, giving Tony a raised eyebrow.

"Story," Tony replied.

"I read him one already," Sarah said. She was tidying up a bit, fluffing pillows and smoothing bed sheets. She wasn't here for twenty-four hour care; she had her own home to go to most nights. She only stayed here when the Tylers were out or otherwise too occupied to watch Tony themselves. She didn't have any kids of her own, as far as he knew. Wasn't married, or at least she didn't wear any sort of ring. He wondered if she had a boyfriend waiting on her somewhere.

"That one about the eel?" he asked.

"No," Sarah said with a small smile. "We've moved onto mice." She handed him a slightly-damp cardboard book. "If you don't mind…"

"Nah, 'sfine." The Doctor tickled the boy under one arm, making him giggle. "You go ahead, see to whatever else Jackie has you doing. I'm sure I can handle this." Getting one child to fall asleep? No problem! 

In the back of his mind, someone was laughing.

Three _hours_ later, the Doctor tip-toed carefully from the room. Tony was tucked in, all snug and looking deceptively angelic.

Warm milk and soothing lullabies (Donna wasn't going to let him live that down any time soon) had had no effect. The story about the mice hadn't interested him. However, he had enjoyed hearing about K1 the robot and Sarah Jane, and Harry, and the Brigadier. By the end of that, his little eyelids had been drooping (at last!) and it had been a delicate matter of seeing him tucked in without waking him up again. All in all, though, the Doctor had to admit that he felt he'd won some sort of victory. The child was asleep, after all, and he hadn't cried once.

_You like it_ , Donna observed, a little bit surprised. So was he, he realised. There seemed to be whole reservoirs of patience inside him that he hadn't been aware of. It helped that Tony, even in the midst of the so-called Terrible Twos, was a sweet and intelligent child. He'd do his parents proud.

Speaking of parents… He'd wandered down to the kitchen to find something to nibble on when he heard voices. He recognised Pete's and Jackie's, but he didn't hear Rose. Frowning, he took his cup of blue-raspberry jelly (they'd started appearing in the fridge a couple of weeks ago, and he found he liked them very much) and went out to greet everyone.

Pete was saying, "Jackie, I haven't done that sort of interview in three years."

"You'll do this one," Jackie replied. She was very cross, but as the Doctor was reasonably sure it wasn't him whom she was cross with, he ventured a cheerful hallo. Jackie glared at him. "So it's you, then!"

The Doctor faltered. "Me?" Oh, _blast it_.

She pointed at his midnight snack. "You're the one who's been sneaking jelly! Those are for Pete's lunch!"

The Doctor glanced at Pete, who sighed. He imagined Jackie putting together a brown bag for her husband, complete with Marmite-laden sandwiches, biscuits, an apple… He couldn't fathom how Pete could actually _like_ Marmite, but then again, so did Rose. No accounting for taste.

"I'm sorry?" he ventured. "Is Rose—"

"Never mind us, we're fine," Jackie snapped. "How are you Jackie? Did anything interesting happen at the gala? Did you have a good time? Why are you home so early?"

Pete shook his head, warning the Doctor not to engage. "All right, Jacks. I'll call Smith's office first thing on Monday."

"Tomorrow," Jackie said, whirling on him with all the deadly intent of a jungle cat. "After Rose's stunt tonight, we're going to need—"

"Stunt?" the Doctor broke in. "Is she all right? Where is—"

"She went upstairs," Pete replied, holding up his hands. Then he pointed at him. "You're going to want a napkin." 

The Doctor looked down. He had blue jelly down the front of his white shirt; the cup was a crumpled ruin in his hand. He grumbled curses under his breath and excused himself to go upstairs. 

The door to their room was closed. He hesitated a moment, looking down at the blue stain and wondering why he hadn't disposed of the cup already.

He knocked lightly before letting himself in. "Rose?" She'd locked herself in the bathroom. He binned the jelly in the rubbish basket next to the dressing table. "Rose, are you all right?"

There was a long moment of silence before he heard her murmur, "Be out in a minute."

"Are you hurt? Do you need—"

The door opened, and Rose tumbled out. Her make-up was a ruin, her hair was disheveled and the person who'd designed her dress was going to be _very_ unhappy. There was a red stain on the skirt—punch, he noted with no small amount of relief.

"What—" he began, but she'd launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "What happened?" he asked gently as she clung to him. He squeezed her reassuringly.

"Doesn't matter," she muttered and then buried her face against his neck. "Just glad to be home." He was burning with curiosity, but he held his tongue. She rewarded him with a kiss. "Mum thought you'd have the house in cinders," she said, nearly smiling. "What did you do tonight?"

"I put Tony to bed," he said.

She blinked at him. "Really?"

He wondered when she'd stop being surprised every time he interacted with her brother without prompting. Other than that one time that they'd found that baby crying on a hillside outside of Athens, he'd had very few opportunities to prove himself unfit for any sort of childcare duties. As he'd said a million times, he liked children. Still, she seemed incapable of forgetting his initial distaste for the screaming infant— _screaming_ , drooling, smelly… Yes, he'd been awkward and done his damnedest to let her do all the handling, but he'd been unnerved by the little thing. He'd cared, of course he'd cared, but it had been a relief to hand him over to Argyros and his wife. Little Oedipus (Eddie, Rose kept calling him) was better off with them.

It was surprising how much it bothered him to remember. Maybe because Donna had years of experience babysitting young cousins and the children of friends, and a very _strong_ desire to be a mother herself… Well, that put a shadow over the whole thing. He didn't want Rose thinking he was unfit to be a parent, because… Well, he didn't. What if they… Well, maybe. At some point. In the future. Assuming… Well.

"Did he give you much trouble?" Rose asked. She reached over her shoulder in an attempt to find the top of her zipper. He gave her a hand.

"Nah. Told him a story about this giant robot Sarah Jane and I dealt with once. Out like a light."

"Giant robot?" Rose wondered. She stepped out of the dress.

"Yep. I was just having a bit of a snack when—" He pulled at the front of his shirt. Right. Damn.

"Mum?" she asked.

"No, I've just got butterfingers. Why is she so—?"

"Because I made a complete ass of myself, and there were cameras, so now she's got to play PR-clean-up."

He raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't Pete have his own PR assistant?"

Rose's lips grew thin. "He did." He opened his mouth, but before he could ask, she said, "Can it wait 'til morning? I just wanna go to sleep."

He nodded. Soon they were nestled together under the covers. The Doctor spooned up behind her, one arm around her waist and dreamt of Tony playing games in the garden with K1, climbing all over him, both of them laughing. It was a nice dream.


	2. Day 77 - Saturday, Sunday, Monday

On Day 77, the Doctor told Tony about how he and Sarah Jane and Harry had found the Nerva Beacon infested by the Wirrn. Rose was in the room this time, which meant that he had to explain some things a bit more. She'd met Sarah Jane, of course, but not Harry Sullivan.

He'd barely got going before Tony dropped off to sleep, but Rose insisted that he tell her about Vira and Noah's sacrifice. They went to the TARDIS's room and he told her the rest of it while he worked on the control panel he was building.

Considering how young he was, the Doctor was certain that Tony didn't understand much of what he was hearing, but he didn't seem to mind. Rose surmised that her brother just liked the sound of his voice, and he could have been reading the Encyclopaedia aloud, and it would have done just as well.

The next night, Sunday, Pete took over the bedtime ritual, which was fine. The Doctor had plans, after all. The TARDIS was restless, so was he, and Rose didn't need any convincing, so he closed the sitting room door behind them and they took a little trip. He fancied a talk with Geoffrey Chaucer.

They were gone nine days, but they got back by noon on the Monday after they'd left, so it was all fine. Martha was irritable about them being so late for work, but he and Rose didn't pay her any mind. Martha was frequently irritable—she was still mad about him taking Toshiko away to the _Genesis_ in the middle of the night last week (from her point of view). Donna made him promise that the next trip, she'd get to come with them.


	3. Day 97 - Tuesday

On Day 97, he and Rose went to the Stormcage Containment Facility to visit Jack. They used the vortex manipulator once a week, spacing the visits so that, on his end, they corresponded to his available visitation days. Unfortunately for Jack, those only occurred once every three months. So far, he'd served twenty-seven months of his fifty-year sentence.

Even so, Jack was in relatively high spirits, considering the damp and the near-complete solitude that he had to endure. Most of the inmates at Stormcage were in solitary confinement. The rest of them were only allowed small social privileges. Once a week, they watched a film in the prison's 'cinema', and there was a large gymnasium where they could congregate and exercise on a daily basis. However, Jack was considered a high-flight risk, and so he didn't get to take advantage of these very often. Over the last few weeks, the Doctor had watched the man grow thinner and his smile grow ever more hollow.

It was eating Rose up too. She'd been in tears the moment they'd got back to Earth the last two times. The Doctor was working on a plan to get Jack out, but there were too many variables to calculate. (For one, twenty-first century London would be the _first_ place they'd look for Jack if he inexplicably 'escaped'.)

The Doctor had popped into the fifty-second century a number of times, but each visit only opened more questions. And as many times as he'd tried to get a hold of River Song, he couldn't find any trace of her. No luck finding out what her proper name was, either.

The next time he had the opportunity to tell Tony his bedtime story, the following Tuesday, he told him about the time he and Rose had met Captain Jack. Tony cuddled up against Rose and fell asleep with his face pressed into her side. Rose tucked Tony safely under the covers before coming to lean into the Doctor's arm.

Ianto had gone with her today, as the Doctor had been in Surrey with Toshiko and Dr. Merchant (Owen's replacement), helping a team from Torchwood One gather up the wreckage from a small Letheian probe that had crash-landed in an old woman's over-grown garden.

"We have to do something," Rose said, once they were in the TARDIS's room.

About Jack, he realised after a moment. "We will," he promised. "But it's going to take time."

Her brow furrowed. "Why?" she demanded. "He doesn't deserve to be there."

"It's not that simple," he said, gently.

"He's our friend!"

"No, the _other_ Jack was our friend. This one kidnapped you and got innocent people killed."

" _River_ killed those people," she shouted back. "She planted the explosives, not him. Jack was just trying to get away from her and save a planet!"

"He's not innocent, Rose. He's a part of that society, he's bound by their laws. I don't agree with their definition of treason, but right now, there's nothing I can do about it. The TARDIS is too young, too unpredictable to take back and forth, willy-nilly. I'm not risking—"

"Do you hear yourself?" She scrubbed her face and pulled her hands roughly through her hair. "You won't risk it? I don't care about the Church or the Sanctum or their laws. They're _wrong_. We've got to _do_ something!"

"I'm not risking _you_!" he cried, and the anger in her eyes flickered. "If I learned anything during our encounter with River and the Shadow Men, it's that I am not prepared. I spent hundreds of years travelling back _there_ , Rose, so yes, after that, you get so you know where everything is, and where it's going, and how to get along around inside it. But this universe is different. I don't know _how_ different. And to make matters worse, I'm half-blind! I can still feel the way time moves, but it's not clear to me anymore, and it's getting worse—" He shut his mouth and looked away from her. He hadn't meant to say so much, but emotions had a way of pushing him too far. He wished he could say that that hadn't been true before.

Rose was far too quiet, but he didn't dare look up from the delicate coral branches. He'd been trying to coax the TARDIS to analyse various organic materials, in the hope she might take an interest in imitating them. So far, the efforts had only resulted a sad little pile of wood scraps, a few plants, a feather, and strips from an old woven leather belt. He picked up a strip and gently tied it around a branch. _Skin_ , he thought. _Of course, it's been treated and abused so much, you probably can't even recognise it, but it was part of a cow once. Those are the ones that 'moo'._

He felt a weight on his shoulder; Rose had leaned her head on him. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Her fingers ran lightly across the side of his head down to the nape of his neck, making him shiver pleasantly. "Are you all right?"

"'M always…" He stopped, feeling the sharp prod of Donna in his mind, like a boot to the backside. He pursed his lips in irritation. "I don't like it, either. I really don't. I should have been able to do more for Jack, but—"

"Wasn't your fault," she murmured. She squeezed his arm. "I didn't mean… I just hate seeing him like that." He turned to look at her at last. Her eyes were over-bright, staring straight ahead, and she was biting her lip. "So do I," he said. It didn't really matter that it was a different Jack. Time Lord-him could have made the distinction better, he thought, but he wasn't that man anymore. For better or worse.


	4. Day 98 - Wednesday

Loathe as he was to admit it, the Doctor was slipping into routine. Tuesday was Visiting Jack Day—what Pete referred to jokingly as the 'weekly duty'. Thursdays, they always ordered pizza for lunch, and everyone ate together in the conference room. This was less fun with the addition of Dr. Merchant, but at least he didn't object aloud to the tradition. Mondays were nice, because they were the beginning of a new week, and the Doctor liked beginnings. Fridays were nice for other reasons, because Friday nights were best for outings with Rose.

For instance, one Friday, they'd gone to the cinema and saw an absolutely terrible film, then they'd snuck into a second, which had turned out to be utterly brilliant. (The Superman franchise did much better in this universe than it had in the other one.) He came to appreciate the cover of darkness, too, thanks to Rose's insistence that they sit in the very back row. He didn't mind missing big gaps of the film, though it did occur to him that their lack of attention to the plot may have affected their perception of both features.

Wednesdays, however. Don't even _talk_ about Wednesdays. The so-called 'hump' day. The middle of the week. The Doctor didn't care for middles.

Wednesdays also happened to be the day of the week he was required to go and see the company psychiatrist.

Martha had come through for him: he would not be seeing Dr. Poole today, but a man named Rupesh.

The Doctor entered the office at 5:18—so he was late, big bloody deal. Rupesh said nothing about it, but he did give his watch a pointed look when the Doctor walked in. He sat in his chair, gestured for the Doctor to sit on the sofa provided and then he folded his hands on his notebook.

"Where would you like to begin?"

The Doctor sat, but his knee kept bouncing. Donna urged him to be calm, this was nothing. He'd met _Freud_ , for Pete's sake. This was nothing. (It had been fun to listen to Freud talk about his theories, grandiose and somewhat hilarious as some of them were. Still, some of the others had been terrifyingly perceptive.) He wondered if Rupesh considered himself a Freudian.

He willed himself to take a (discreet) deep breath and sit back on the sofa, and to smile. "I don't want to be here," he said.

Rupesh nodded. "Many agents are resistant to the process. It's understandable."

"Of course it is."

"How are you, John?"

Well, that clinched it.

The Doctor's smile widened and he told Dr. Rupesh everything he wanted to hear, none of it strictly truthful, or really a lie. He _was_ fine, yes. Adjusting to living in an alternate universe certainly had it's difficulties. No, being a Time Lord was similar enough to being human. He enjoyed learning and exploring the differences. Oh, look at that, six o'clock already? What a pity, see you next week.

One cab ride later—he never took the SUV for these appointments—he walked into Martha's office and plopped down in the empty chair. Martha lowered her fork into her half-eaten salad bowl and sighed. She often worked past seven in the evenings; so did Toshiko. Both Donnas had doubts about their personal lives.

"What did he do?" Martha asked him, resignation already on her face.

"He's an idiot," the Doctor replied. " _Really_ , Martha, I still think that—"

"You agreed to it," she broke in. "Remember?"

"Yes," he replied coldly. "But in case it's escaped your notice, the esteemed Dr. Harper is on an indefinite leave of absence."

" _Voluntary_ indefinite leave of absence. None of his medical diagnoses or professional decisions are subject to scrutiny at this time."

"Bureaucratic hogwash!"

"Doctor!" Martha took a long breath and closed her eyes a moment before continuing. "It's only six months. You've got most of the way through two. Granted, you're on your third therapist—"

"And I'd like to move onto the fourth."

"On the grounds that Dr. Rupesh is an idiot?"

"Yes," he said tightly.

"Dr. Victor Rupesh, top of his class at Oxford, with PhDs in psychology, parapsychology, psychiatry and—"

"He could be the Stephen Bloody Hawking of psychiatrists," the Doctor proclaimed. "He's still an idiot."

Martha gave him a shrewd look. "You mean he's not as smart as you are."

"I'm not putting my mental health in the hands of a man who can't read a profile properly."

A crease formed over her nose. "Maybe the files are—"

"I'm not going back." He got to his feet and marched out of the office and back to his desk. (He had a desk. A real _desk_. It was horrifying.) Rose wasn't at hers, but she'd probably just gone to the loo or down into the archives. They usually went to eat at Temple's on Wednesdays, him and Rose, Donna and Ianto. Definitely the highlight of Wednesdays.

Donna sauntered over to him. She was in a cheerful mood of late, which was brilliant, of course. He credited the Torchwood pay—she'd been so worried about money for so long, it was good that she could have some peace of mind. Of course, interesting happenings and a wee bit of adventure probably weren't hurting anything.

"How'd it go?" she asked. "Not good, I take it?"

He glowered at the desk and grunted.

"It's hard adjusting," she said sympathetically. "I went through two or three doctors myself before I found one I didn't hate."

He muttered something, the gist being 'completely unnecessary' and 'doggrel'.

"Yeah," she said. She gave him a little smile. "But it's not forever, is it?"

Just like that, he realised how childish he was being. He rubbed his neck. "No, it isn't," he said. He should go and apologise to Martha.

But time had a way of getting away from him now. More than an hour passed, mostly due to paperwork he'd been putting off, and then Martha walked into the office, cerulean blue file in hand. "Where's Rose?"

The Doctor started. He'd presumed that Rose's protracted absence meant that she was out in the field, but if Martha didn't know—

"When did you see her last?" he cried, leaping out of his chair.

"She left about twenty minutes after you did," Donna said, coming over, putting a hand on his arm and squeezing. "She went to the television studio. An interview, she said. I thought she told you?"

Martha nodded, "She did. Slipped my mind." She frowned. "Doctor, are you all right?"

"Fine," he bit off.

_A bit jumpy, Spaceman?_

"You've been drinking too much coffee," Donna joked, but he could see in her face that she knew it wasn't the caffeine. He forced a smile and Martha turned to leave again. He started to say something, but the words got tangled up in embarrassment and the adrenaline still coursing through him.

When Martha was out of earshot, Donna patted his arm. She hadn't let go of him yet; for that he was grateful. "She forgot to tell you, didn't she?"

"Probably not." He rubbed his eyes. "I thought it was Pete doing the interview this week."

"Already happened." She sat down at his desk and dug the keyboard out from under a rainbow pile of folders. "It was in _The Times_ yesterday." She brought it up on his computer screen.

 _The Man Behind the Curtain_. The byline said: S.J. Smith, Editor.

"Can't be…! Oh, I bet it is! Sarah Jane!" The Doctor grinned. "Oh, good show, Sarah!"

Donna raised an eyebrow at him. "Another old friend?"

"In a manner of speaking. She's a journalist, too! Aw, that's _fantastic_!"

 

> _It's been seven years since Mr. Tyler rose to political prominence in the aftermath of the nightmare that was John Lumic's Cybermen. Then, known as founder of popular 'Vitex' health drink, later bought by Cybus Industries, Tyler worked closely with Lumic._
> 
> _It's very easy to like this man. He gives no particular impression of being anything but the affable businessman every Briton has known since the mid-90s. Vitex, like most corporations based in Great Britain, was purchased by the behemoth Cybus Industries in 2005._
> 
> _"It was simply business at first. I won't deny it," Tyler says, solemn and showing none of the corny charm he exudes in the now classic video billboard advertisements. "But the deeper I got, the more I realised that John Lumic's physical infirmities had affected his mind._
> 
> _"It was tragic, really. I don't defend anything that he did, but no one can deny that Lumic had a brilliant mind. What he did with it was inexcusable. But in the end, he paid the price."_
> 
> _I asked him about the families affected by the Cybermen, and Lumic's 'tragedy'._
> 
> _"I know exactly how they feel. I was in the middle of the facility—I saw first-hand what was happening. I have no sympathy John Lumic. He caused the suffering of millions; there isn't any forgiveness. Not from me."_
> 
> _Today, Tyler is the head of the Board at the Torchwood Institute, which featured prominently in the eradication of the remaining Cyberman threat here and abroad. It is known to most of the public as a Health & Safety division of the government, with offices across the world, primarily in countries with former commonwealth ties, and liaison offices in Japan, Peru, and even the United States. The Institute has its hands in government defence contracts, international border disputes, even, it seems, medical databases. In 2010, three years after he had dismantled Cybus Corp to its component parts, and used what remained to fuel his own personal crusade to rid the world of Lumic's menace, Mr. Tyler was awarded a seat on the Board of Directors at the Torchwood Institute. Soon after, he was informed that the Institute had found a positive DNA match for his wife, Jacqueline Prentice Tyler, thought to have been lost in the February First massacre._
> 
> _"I remember reading headlines that called it a miracle," Tyler tells me, "and part of me thought it was a funny word to choose. I've never been a religious man, mind you. But it was."_
> 
> _And what about Rose Tyler? The same Torchwood officials who found Mrs. Tyler—physically unharmed, but changed by her experience and minus many of the memories of her former life—also discovered a young woman, age twenty-three, who was an exact genetic match for the billionaire and his wife. After this, it was revealed that in 1987, the Tylers had had an infant daughter, but due to hospital error—many will remember the reprehensible state of the healthcare system in that decade—the couple was informed that she had died not long after birth. Young Rose, thought to be the abandoned child of an teenaged mother, was given over to government care, and grew up never knowing who she was, until Torchwood found her._
> 
> _"We'd never talked about Rose, not to anyone outside the family," Tyler says. "She was so young, and it was back before I got the business off the ground. We never forgot her; it was beyond belief to have her back again." He laughs. "I had to adjust to being a father pretty quickly." In fact, within a year of the reunion between Mr and Mrs Tyler, they had a second child, a boy called Tony, who, naturally, is adored by all members of the family._
> 
> _Among all these losses you suffered, the struggles you faced after February the First, you must have felt like you were luckiest man in the world._
> 
> _"I am," he replies, with a grin. "I definitely am. I'm thankful every day for my family. They're what it's all for, you know?"_
> 
> _But it's not all connubial bliss these days. Mid-September of this year, there was an incident at the Tyler Estate. It was Mr. Tyler's fifty-ninth birthday party. A group of people—simply referred to as rogue terrorists by the press—attacked, injuring several of the attendees, not the least of which, President Harriet Jones herself. A minor injury caused by 'flying glass', according to the official report, was treated at the scene by Torchwood physicians. Fourteen people were killed. Tyler himself was injured._
> 
> _But what does he have to say about some of the wilder reports that the news media have been bandying about since? There had been nothing but official comments from Torchwood, but some witnesses stated that the so-called terrorists were not human. When asked follow up questions in interviews, all retracted their earlier assertions, citing shock and trauma, or simply refused interview altogether._
> 
> _It's not the first time that Londoners have complained about strange goings on. Only three weeks ago, men in red masks planted bombs on Thatcher Bridge. Some eyewitnesses claimed that the men were, in fact, half-man, half-fish. The common element: Torchwood. Eyewitnesses also confirmed seeing one Rose Tyler on the scene. The Thatcher Bridge bombing has shown no similarity to the random acts of terror that killed a dozen commuters at King's Cross, and destroyed Henrik's Department store on the seventeenth of September. Rose Tyler was seen at both locations that day, as were known Torchwood personnel. Mr. Tyler confirms that he was at King's Cross after the bombs went off, as he put it, aiding in relief and apprehension of the bombers, who were detained. No reports on whether these bombers were definitely human in appearance, whether they have been tried and sentenced, or if they are simply being held at the Institute's pleasure._
> 
> _What does Mr. Tyler have to say about the accusations that Torchwood is keeping secrets from the tax-paying public? (Though taxes aren't the only source of revenue for this shadowy organisation. It is a matter of public record that the Torchwood Institute holds the patents on several well-known and common technological devices. However, this reporter is forbidden by law to divulge which ones. One more argument for a more transparent and trusting body of government.)_
> 
> _"Secrets?" he repeats, mulling over the question for a moment. "People always think that the government is hiding something. And they're right. Governments have to keep a few cards up their sleeves. Knowledge is power. That's what its all about."_
> 
> _The final question, the question that Mr. Tyler would not answer, is where does the Torchwood Institute fit in?_

 

The Doctor felt a strange mixture of pride and amusement—for one, good on Sarah Jane, asking questions and sticking her nose in where it wasn't wanted. For another, was that _really_ the story they'd gone with? Rose, abandoned as a baby, never knowing her real family… It sounded like something out of a bad soap opera or a good children's novel. He almost laughed. No wonder she hadn't mentioned it, but then again, why _wouldn't she_? It was hilarious!

"Who is Rose talking to?" he asked. "Did she say?"

"It's a chat show," Donna replied. She turned towards the coffee nook. "Ianto, what show was Rose going to be on?"

Ianto hadn't been in the room when the Doctor had come in. At least, he didn't think so.

"Graham Norton." Ianto sipped at his steaming mug. "It's on BBC2 at ten."

"BBC?" the Doctor mused as Donna brought up a television feed on the computer screen. "I thought that was shut down years ago."

Donna scoffed. "You _are_ from an alternate reality."

"It was reinstated in 2008," Ianto said helpfully. "It's a new show, but it's pretty popular. They have a lot of celebrities on."

The Inner Donna had been a fan of Graham Norton back in the other universe, and was curious to see how this one would be different. It was decided that they would all stay in the office and watch it together. (Outer Donna said she would have offered to have them come to the house, but it wasn't fit for company.) They ate and caught up on work, but mostly, they just had a nice relaxed chat.

Of course, about ten minutes before the programme was going to start, Dr. Merchant poked his boiled-egg head in and asked (read: ordered) the Doctor to come down to the med lab.

"Can it wait?" Why was _he_ still here? Did no one ever go home?

"Not really. What are you watching?"

Dr. Richard Merchant was average-looking, average height, average build… He was in his forties and balding, grey-eyed, brown haired, and he walked as if, instead of a spine, someone had installed an iron rod. _Rectally_ , added Donna. Merchant liked rules even more than Martha did.

"Rose is going to be on Graham Norton," Donna said.

"I see. Does this relate to our work in some way?"

Toshiko appeared in the doorway, breathless. "Did I miss it?" She'd probably rushed up the stairs from the tech lab. When she saw Merchant, she stopped dead. "Oh."

"No, there's still a few minutes," Donna said. "Pull up a chair."

"I'll get Martha, actually."

"Good idea," the Doctor said. He gave Merchant a superior smile. "I'm sure she wants to watch."

Dr. Merchant crossed his arms and didn't speak again. Tosh returned with Martha. Ianto gathered the rolling chairs in front of the Doctor's desk.

"Does anyone want popcorn?" he asked, smiling slightly.

"Do we have any?" Martha sounded surprised.

"We might have some left over from cinema night."

"We haven't had any cinema nights," Donna said.

"Mr. Smith instituted the practice during his tenure."

"Sounds like a good idea," the Doctor said, eyes trained to the computer display. Donna had muted the sound. It was showing the end of a panel show. The only celebrity he recognised was David Mitchell.

Ianto went to his nook to make the popcorn. The Doctor sat in his chair and twiddled a pen between two fingers. He was still mulling over Sarah Jane's article. She certainly had a healthy suspicion of Torchwood—much as the other Sarah Jane had had for UNIT, if he remembered—and she was right to. Even though he'd allowed Martha to induct him, he didn't trust the organisation. He was thankful that a man like Pete was at the head of it, but as much as he liked him, he didn't entirely trust him to never do something unforgivably stupid or brutal. Prime Minister Harriet Jones should have been at the head of a golden age, but he'd had to put an end to that. A leader who would murder a retreating enemy did not deserve power.

Inner Donna pointed to what had followed Jones: Saxon, in particular. Not that she'd known what he was then—she'd never paid much mind to politics, anyway—but now she knew everything. Maybe he wouldn't have grabbed power so easily if Jones had still been in office?

Of course, she was wrong, because the Master only would have killed her, just because she was in his way.

 _But she died anyway_ , Donna said. _Defending the planet. Which was all she was trying to do when she killed the Sycorax._

 _Doesn't make it right_ , he thought.

_Doesn't make her a villain, either._

You _wouldn't have done it. I just hope that I never have to stop Pete._

Donna didn't reply.

In the middle of that deafening mental silence, the programme started.

It was difficult to concentrate on things like the opening titles or the guest list—though he did see Rose's name float across the screen.

"Oh, I like him," Donna exclaimed.

"Which one?" Tosh asked.

"Nathaniel Lasko."

"He does have a very nice bum," Tosh agreed.

"Empirically speaking," Martha added.

"Of course."

"It's starting," Ianto said, putting a lid on the discussion.

Graham Norton looked very much the same as he had in the other universe, though he may have had even more questionable taste in sport jackets. The one he was wearing was bright yellow with orange isosceles triangles emblazoned all over it.

The introductory monologue was short and completely unintelligible to anyone who wasn't familiar with popular culture. There wasn't much in that could keep the Doctor's interest. Everyone else seemed to be captivated. Donna laughed the most, Martha and Ianto second. Once or twice, Tosh looked over at him as if to gauge his reaction, or apparent lack thereof. Dr. Merchant merely stood there, arms crossed over his chest and watched dispassionately.

At last, Graham called out his three guests. Inner-Donna wondered why they didn't have drinks.

"Tonight, I have three wonderful people on the couch. First, Hollywood actor Nathaniel Lasko. Also, comedian Dylan Moran. And, for the first time in any television appearance, we have the lovely and elusive Rose Tyler!" The audience applauded. "Let's meet them!"

The Doctor watched, on tenterhooks as the camera swooped across the brightly-coloured stage, showing a long blue couch. The two men and Rose were each called out from backstage, and Graham gave them exaggerated air-kisses on each cheek, ending with Rose, who took a seat closest to him. She was wearing a simple ivory knee-length dress, and her hair was around her shoulders, loose except for one lock that was pulled back behind her right ear.

"All right, all right! Let's get to it! Nathaniel—can I call you Nathaniel? Or do you prefer Nathan? Nat? Nnh?"

The handsome man in the middle smiled broadly. He was in black denim and pointed shoes. "Sure, why not?"

"Nathaniel, I just have to start by asking you, how does it feel to have starred in _two_ of the top-grossing films of this year?" The audience clapped some more, Nathaniel Whoever waved his hands in a charmingly modest fashion and was generally very handsome and boring. The Doctor closed his eyes and then forced himself to open them wide.

"What was he in?"

" _Terminator 6_ ," Ianto replied. "And the remake of _Top Gun_."

"They remade _Top Gun_?! That's terrible!"

"It was surprisingly good," Donna said.

"No, it wasn't," said Ianto, as if the very suggestion was ridiculous.

"Who'd he play?" the Doctor asked.

Donna took some popcorn from the large bowl in Martha's lap. "Tom Cruise."

"Shh!" Martha tossed a bit of popcorn at her.

"Now, Miss Tyler…" Back on the screen, Graham was giving Rose a significant look. "This is your first time on telly, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she replied. She was flushed and she did look a bit nervous. It _wasn't_ her first time on television, technically, if you counted that nightmare version of _The Weakest Link_ , but the Doctor didn't like to think about that. (That pile of grey ash on the smooth black floor, thinking that she was gone, _dead_ and all because of him…) He shuddered at the memory.

"S'all right, Rose," he murmured, just under his breath, as if she'd be able to hear him. "You're fine."

"Don't worry," Graham said, kindly patting the hands that were tightly clasping her knee. "We'll be gentle." Cue laughter from the audience and the other guests, but Rose laughed too, and she did relax a bit.

"You've been in the news quite a lot lately."

Rose nodded. "Unfortunately." Some light laughter.

"Nonsense!" Norton cried. "Only thing worse than being talked about, all that… But your father's at the centre of most of it. Trust Me On This Tyler." He gave a cheesy thumbs-up and grinned. More laughter. "There was an article in _The Times_ yesterday, written by Sarah Jane Smith. Now, this is a woman who's made a _career_ of going after people. It looks like she's getting ready to set the dogs on him. Does it worry you at all?"

Rose smiled and shook her head. "No. That's the press's job, innit?"

"True, true," Graham replied. "She mentioned you a few times."

"I did read it," Rose said, smiling slyly.

Norton held up his hands in mock-apology. "Of course, of course! I'm sure you can read!" Laughter.

"Short books," she joked, holding her fingers half an inch apart. "Lots of pictures." Louder laughter at this.

"You know about books, don't you Dylan?" Graham said.

Dylan Moran wore a blank look and a shirt with a vertical stripe under a black jacket. "Never heard of them." Ha ha ha. The Doctor wondered if they had signs directing the audience. But Martha and Donna both seemed to find it chuckle-worthy, at least.

"She's a natural," Martha mused.

Ianto nodded. "Mrs. Tyler will be thrilled."

"I've got to ask." Graham leaned in closer. "There are all kinds of rumours flying around. Maybe you can put some of them to rest?"

"I can try," Rose said gamely.

He looked her right in the eyes. "Torchwood."

Rose held up her hands and laughed. "Ooh! I'm not touching that one!" This was only half as funny as the book joke, apparently.

"What's Torchwood?" asked Nathaniel the actor. (Who was too blond to play Tom Cruise's character.)

Dylan tapped his shoulder. "It's like _The X-Files_ , except it's real." Laughter.

"What, like aliens and conspiracies and stuff like that?"

Norton turned to Rose expectantly, chin on one hand. "Stuff like that?"

"Is she going to…?" Tosh began.

"You sayin' you believe in aliens?" Rose asked. Martha was right. She was playing along, keeping the banter going. _He_ wasn't surprised, Rose was always quick on her feet, so to speak, but it was fascinating to watch.

"Green ones?" Nathaniel asked uncertainly.

"They're grey, actually," Dylan said with authority. The audience was eating this up, but the Doctor could still sense their anticipation through the screen.

"Just as long as they're not the big scary black ones with the…" Norton clapped a hand to his face, and started twitching and convulsing theatrically. _Absolute hilarity_ , proclaimed the audience.

"Is she allowed to say anything?" Donna asked Martha.

"I don't know. I assume she was briefed before she went on."

"I don't think we're alone in the universe," Rose said at last. "It's too big. There are whole planets and galaxies out there."

"Course," Dylan put in, "the odds of any of it having intelligent life are nil."

"There's bugger-all down here on Earth," Nathaniel said. Raucous laughter.

Norton got halfway out of his chair and swatted at his shoulder. "You do know that as an American, you're not allowed to say that word," he informed him.

"That's right, that's _our_ word," Dylan agreed.

Nathaniel held up his hands apologetically. "Sorry, sorry. I just watched that movie the other day. Research, you know."

Things calmed down a bit. "Okay, but seriously, Rose." Norton raised an eyebrow. "All these lines have been drawn between you and Torchwood. Your dad's basically in charge of it. Have you been to any of the meetings?"

"Not in ages," she replied, shaking her head.

He seemed genuinely surprised to get an answer. "But you have _been_."

"Yes." Rose nodded. "Yeah, I work for Torchwood."

Tentative applause, exaggerated look of surprise from Norton. Dylan leaned forward to look at Rose.

"So, is that you playing on my fillings at night, then?"

Rose pouted thoughtfully. "Is it the one with the salsa music?"

"Nah, it's reggae, I think."

"Rotate your bed so it faces east-west. That should fix—" The rest was swallowed in gales of applause and laughter, in the studio and in the office. Even the Doctor joined in a bit.

After that, the conversation moved on to Dylan's new sitcom, before turning to the audience for a vaguely familiar bit about embarrassing moments. The audience responses were mostly tame, but amusing.

"I've forgotten something!" Norton cried as he retook his seat. " _Very_ important. Rose, there's a bit more to your life than Torchwood, am I right?"

Rose's face froze. So did everyone in the office. The Doctor glanced around and realised that Merchant had abandoned the room altogether. He probably didn't give a toss, thought it was a waste of time. Or he'd finally gone home.

 _Git_ , Donna muttered.

"Have we got that photo? Yes, we do." Norton indicated a television screen behind them. A picture appeared, blown up to massive proportion until it filled the screen.

It was Rose, walking down the street hand in hand with a tall thin man in a blue suit. The two of them looked so blissfully happy, they might have been caught mid-skip.

The audience made loud, approving, curious noises, reminiscent of cartoon hens.

The Doctor swallowed.

"Oh dear," Martha said, and he thought she might have been trying to tease him, but frankly, he didn't care. Why in the world were they showing pictures of him and Rose on television? Who had taken that? _Why_?

The cameras returned to Rose on the couch. She looked at least half as embarrassed as the Doctor felt, which was just shy of please-let-me-just-die-now. He sank down in his chair. How _humiliating_. Donna reached over and patted his arm bracingly. Tosh gave him a sympathetic glance.

"This isn't the only photo that's been circulating," Norton said, "but I thought it was the most adorable. Who _is_ he, and does he have a brother?" The audience liked that one.

Rose seemed to have lost all powers of speech.

"Who the hell does he think he—?" the Doctor began.

"Hush," Donna told him.

"That's the Doctor," Rose said at last.

"Doctor who?" Nathaniel asked.

"The Doctor," Rose repeated. She was getting herself back together again now. "John Noble," she added, an awkward afterthought. "But he just goes by Doctor."

"Oooh… _Does_ he now?" Norton grinned cheekily.

"That's what _you_ call him?" Dylan wondered. The audience was all a flutter at the apparent implications.

The Doctor died a little inside.

"You two have been together for a while now?" Norton asked. He didn't _sound_ like he meant to embarrass the life out of them.

"I've known him since I was nineteen," she said. "I mean… We weren't _together_ all that time, just friends, but more recently…" She was turning red again.

"Poor Rose," Tosh murmured.

"This isn't live?" Martha asked. Ianto shook his head.

Norton was like a bloodhound with a scent. "So many _questions_! Is he at Torchwood as well?"

She nodded and evaded. "He is."

Norton grinned. "Do you catch aliens together?" Laughter. "I bet that's romantic." When Rose didn't reply, he went on. "He's a doctor, does he do the CSI thing?"

Rose simply smiled. "He does a bit of everything. He's the best and most brilliant man I've ever known."

The Doctor couldn't decide whether he was embarrassed or pleased by this. Mostly pleased. He wished Rose was here now.

"That is… _disgustingly_ adorable," Dylan said after the first wave of 'awwws' died down. More laughter.

"Too sweet for words," Norton agreed. "All right, all right, I'll leave it alone now. Don't want you to burst into flame." He turned to face the camera. "Coming up next we've got musical guest Regina Spektor, and then we've got a little game for our guests, but first, a word or five from our sponsors!"

The Doctor made a face. He'd been horrified the other night when he had discovered that _all_ the television had breaks for advertisements. Apparently, there was no such thing as a television licence here.

"That went all right, I think," Martha said.

"Could have been worse," Tosh agreed.

"What do people care about…" Words were failing him. "… _Us_."

"Are you kidding?" Donna cried. "Beautiful daughter of a famous billionaire dating _anyone_? Even if it weren't for all the Torchwood and exploding bridges, people would be curious. Trust me."

The Donna in his head confirmed that this was true. He gritted his teeth. "But that picture—"

"Paparazzi," Martha sighed. "Which will be a problem, now that Rose has gone and publicly confirmed that she works for Torchwood. We'll have to be careful about keeping any fieldwork from being compromised."

"No, no no no." The Doctor rubbed his eyes. "I am _not_ going to have my picture taken by random… _people_ …! _No_."

"Mr. Tyler already has a system in place for dealing with them," Ianto said. "Granted, it hasn't been necessary to go to any extremes to protect the family's privacy since the initial curiosity about Mrs. Tyler and Rose died down."

"Is that what you did?" Donna wondered. "Handled nosy photographers?"

"Sometimes," Ianto replied. "I was primarily concerned with Mr. Tyler's safety and person."

"I can handle them myself," the Doctor said. He took out the sonic. Be easy enough to ruin cameras with that. Especially since everything was completely digital.

"I wouldn't recommend it," Ianto said, lifting one eyebrow. "Any sensation or scandal will only increase the interest."

"I wasn't going to scandalise them," he protested.

"You could date someone less famous," Donna suggested. When he glared at her, she winced. "That was a joke, Spaceman."

"I don't find this very funny!"

"Of course not," she said in soothing tones.

"It's nobody's bloody business!"

Martha frowned thoughtfully at the screen as a make up ad flashed by. "I'm just glad that she managed to keep control of the situation. It would have been an inappropriate forum to introduce the public to the nature of Earth's relationship with extraterrestrial life."

She was right, of course. Then again, there was a part of the Doctor that found it difficult to understand what would have been so bad if Rose had simply told the truth. Not about the alternate universe and _him_ , but that there were aliens all over Britain, all over the _world_ , and that one of Torchwood's primary functions was dealing with that fact. Sure, some people would panic, but not everyone would. And giving them hints in a safe, humorous setting could help pave the way a bit. People were already suspicious. And they should be. He wondered how angry everyone would get if he called Sarah Jane Smith and gave her an interview of his own.

"You're all still here?"

Everyone raised their heads as one. Rose was standing by the entrance. She was still wearing the ivory dress, but she'd put her hair up.

The Doctor got to his feet, ridiculously relieved to see her. "Rose!" He was next to her in seconds, arms around her, kissing her… maybe a little too hard. She patted his chest lightly, her usual signal that he should stop. Reluctantly, he let go.

"Oh, God." She saw the chairs around the centre desk and her eyes went wide. "Have you all been watching?"

"Of course," Donna said. "We wouldn't _miss_ it."

Rose leaned into him for a moment before flashing him a quick, reassuring smile. "Is it over yet?"

"They've got Regina Spektor on now," Ianto said.

"She was good, you should turn it up. The rest of the show's just fluff, you don't have to finish it."

"How are you?" the Doctor asked her, quietly.

"Fine. Really." Her hand ran up his arm to his shoulder. "It was a little nerve-wracking, but everyone was really nice. Graham invited me back, even. Not that I know why. I didn't really give him much, and it's not like I was that entertaining."

The others descended on her with questions and listened raptly to her answers. Someone had paused the playback—the screen was frozen on Norton mid-word; his eyes were half-closed, as if he were about to sneeze. The Doctor held back and listened while they all talked.

"You looked so mortified when they brought up the photo," Donna said, sympathetic. "I probably would have smacked him!"

Rose laughed. "I knew they might ask me about personal stuff, I just didn't expect _pictures_." She reached out and squeezed the Doctor by the hand. "Hope I didn't make fool of myself."

"You were fine," Martha assured her.

"I think your mother may have you do all the television publicity for now on," said Ianto as he picked up the empty popcorn bowl and took it back to the nook.

Rose's eyes widened. "Oh God, don't say that. Why?"

"You're better on camera than your dad," Donna said, smirking. "I remember seeing him on a press thing years ago. He was so… aggressive."

"That was in 2008." Ianto was frowning. "It wasn't a good time."

"Yeah, well, he should stick to print. He didn't come off too badly in that _Times_ thing."

Rose snorted. "If I didn't know a thing or two about Sarah Jane Smith, I'd assume he'd paid her off."

The Doctor raised a eyebrow. "Pete would bribe a journalist?"

"She's sort of known as a pit bull here," she said apologetically.

Martha snorted. "I'd bribe her!" Everyone looked at her.

"Martha Jones," the Doctor said with a very straight face. "That would be _illegal_. Or at the very least _immoral_."

She shook her head. "Sarah Jane _Smith_? She did a piece on the Chief Inspector when I was a constable. By the end of it all, they ran him out on a rail. Pit bull is one of the _nicer_ things people call her."

"Without resorting to vulgarity: vulture, viper…" Ianto glanced up from his watch. "The Last Thing A Senator Sees."

"I get the picture." The Doctor nodded thoughtfully. So there would be no going to talk to Sarah Jane. Not yet, anyhow. "And now she's after Pete."

Rose shook her head. "She's after Torchwood," she said. "That thing she wrote didn't have half the stuff they talked about in it."

"I thought it was short. For her," Martha muttered.

"Lucky for Mr. Tyler," Ianto began—he was moving chairs back to their rightful places. He was probably keen to get home. "His actions after the Cybermen Incident endeared him to the public. Smith will probably hesitate to go for his jugular unless she gets something truly compelling."

"Like the fact that the organisation he's Board Chair for is responsible for containing and repelling extraterrestrial incursion?" Martha suggested.

Ianto nodded. "Like that."

"How bad could that really be?" the Doctor wondered. "I mean, I'd be the first to tell you that people only see what they _want_ to see, when it comes to anything that doesn't fit in their cosy little worldview."

"Most people," Donna said primly.

"Most people," he amended. "But there's no way to keep it all under wraps forever. First large-scale invasion, all that careful subterfuge'll go up in smoke."

Martha shook her head. "Until we cover it back up again. That's part of our _job_."

The Doctor glowered at her. "It's pointless."

"In that other universe, Earth had been invaded how many times? Once, twice, a hundred, a thousand?" The Doctor didn't reply. Martha continued. "And I bet you most people still didn't believe in aliens or any of that."

"Plenty do," Rose said. "They're just…"

"Daft?"

"I hate to bring it up," Donna said, "but it's almost eleven o'clock. I've got to be getting home to Gramps, else he'll probably send the army out looking for me."

"It probably is time we all went home." Tosh looked around. "Did anybody see where Dr. Merchant went?"

"He snuck out while we were watching the show," Martha said. "Just as well."

Donna was by her desk; she already had her coat on. "That git. Couldn't he even try to show some support?" She was making the rounds, shutting everyone's computers down.

Ianto pressed the master switch on the Argus tower and the office lights dimmed. He smiled mildly. "Probably had to get home to his ficus."

"Ooh, that's mean…" Donna said, but she was still laughing.

"D'you think he's a really a robot?" Rose wondered. "I mean, he's just a little too… normal… for Torchwood?"

The Doctor squinted one eye thoughtfully. "Let me see, we've got a genius technology expert fluent in a dozen alien computer languages, an office manager who doesn't even blink when faced with large sentient fungi ask her for tea, a former police sergeant who took on Godzilla, a gun-wielding Welsh valet in Armani, a one-time shop-girl who hops to alternate dimensions like some people go to the shops, and a Time-Lord-human-meta-crisis who keeps a living time machine in his parlour." Donna rolled her eyes. Tosh blushed a bit while Martha put on her coat and looked smug. He grinned at them.

Ianto checked his fob watch again. "I'm setting the alarm."

Rose handed the Doctor his suit jacket from the back of his chair. (He didn't have an overcoat. He still hadn't found one that was good enough. This was going to be a problem, come winter.)

"For his sake," Rose said as they all walked to the lift together, "he had better be a robot."


End file.
